We’re on Honduran soil! We deplane, all under our own power, including the valiant, energetically ambulatory Wilma Lucas, who has indignantly refused the wheelchair that the airline personnel say had been ordered for her!
As with an international arrival anywhere in the world, we trek to the immigration hall, where we get into the line for “extranjeros,” “foreigners.” What an advantage at that point to have been a Honduran citizen and able to geT into the much shorter line. Still, it moves well enough and ends with a stamped passport and a smiling “Welcome to Honduras” from the immigration official. Our luggage is already on the carousel, and easy to identify since most pieces bear custom luggage tags made by Ron Walker. They have our parish logo, a prominent green Jerusalem Cross, on each one. As at check-in, Charleston security, and immigration, again all sail through without trouble except the apparently-suspicious-looking Paulette Flench (could it be the baseball cap?), who is checked out more thoroughly.
Waiting for us in the terminal are a smiling Carlos Najera and his three young sons. Fluently bilingual, he is now the head of Olancho Aid, guided still by its intrepid founder, Father Richard Donohue of Boston, MA. Carlos, his companions, and some entrepeneurial kids help us with the luggage and we head across the parking lot to where the recently-purchased Olancho Aid school bus is waiting. Thank GOD! It can accommodate our tons of luggage and ourselves. In a low voice, Carlos asks me if we’re hungry! Are we hungry? For our body clock it’s about 12:30 Noon. So the bus drives a short distance to a brand-new, glistening mall and we’re off to the food court. Most of the less-adventurous go to Subway, some of us try specialties at a local stand, and all seem satisfied with a tasty lunch.
And we’re off! It will be a three-hour bus ride to Juticalpa. First impressions: the hills, alll completely covered with multifamily housing…big flat-bed trucks piled high with huge, neat plastic bags filled with trash and/or recycling material…the warm but delightfully-unhumid weather…speeding across the countryside in our yellow bomber with all the windows open.
Everyone has done well on the journey, but there’s no one who isn’t dead tired. Still, the excitement of being in another country, another culture, pumps us up and fends off sleep for the most part. For some, this is their first time outside the United States. For others who have been abroad, it’s the first time in Honduras, and indeed in a developing country. The sights, sounds and smells are intriguing. Those of us who have been on one or both of the previous missions, experience a certain sense of homecoming. We revel in the beloved familiar uniqueness of this beautiful, if poor, country and its people. For Beth Mevissen, it’s a homecoming in spades. We are going this time to help the work of Olancho Aid in Juticalpa and vicinity, precisely where Beth served as a volunteer, teaching first grade in the mission’s bilingual school in the 2009-10 school year. She looks forward to reuniting with many friends and former students. She was the one who had been able to assure us that this was the mission just right for us (and she would certainly be proven absolutely right!)
Honduras is a mountainous country in general. Our ride took us eastwards from the capital through open country with hills on every side. This is a rather unpopulated area and there was relatively little traffic. The bus driver could let her rip, and he did! About two hours along the way, we made a rest stop at a little pull-over area which sported a restaurant, ice-cream stand, “pulperia” (convenience store) and a Christian book store, as well as clean rest rooms.
Then it was all aboard for one more hour’s ride till we entered the outskirts of Juticalpa. It’s a city of about 50,000, and capital of the very extensive (if poor and sparsely populated) state of Olancho. Soon we turned down a dirt road and spotted a church tower. Next thing we entered a gate and our bus came to a stop beside a large, attractive stucco building. This is our home until June 30.
The building belongs to the Franciscan Sisters who have their motherhouse and other institutions on the parish church grounds. I believe it was their old motherhouse which they outgrew and built a new one. It stood abandoned for a few years and was taken over by the birds. A year ago, Olancho Aid leased it from the Sisters, cleaned it up, and refurbished it to serve as a volunteer group residence. Our rooms are on the second floor, spacious, with bunk beds. There’s a small lounge area, and a common bathroom with four stalls and four showers. For water pressure and privacy reasons, we limit use of the showers to two people at a time, but it has proven unnecessary to schedule separate times for males and females, or specific times for each one’s shower.
That’s just one example of the great spirit of respect, collaboration and sacrifice in this group without exception. More on this later.
Breakfast is pickup. Coffee is made for us by Oscar, who is our local shepherd. He lives on the first floor, accompanies us when we leave the house, takes care of any house problems or needs, and keeps us informed of developments and what is planned for us. He is a really delightful young man who speaks fluent English, having lived for a couple of years in Knoxville, Tennessee.
Benita, the cook, makes our lunch and supper. Rice has always been on the menu in one form or another. The first lunch came with beans, supper with chicken and vegetables. There’s also a pantry with crackers, bread, snack items, peanut butter, etc., which we’re always free to raid. Purified water is on hand in several canisters, and Coke products are made available at meal times, along with coffee around the clock. There are even ice cubes made from the purified water!
Arriving here around 4:15PM, we were given around two hours to settle in and then served our first supper, which was pizza. Carlos then gathered us together for a briefing on guidelines, helpful information, etc., and to answer many questions.
By then it was around 8:00PM (10:00PM in Conway). At that point, most of us would have agreed with what my mom used to say when she was ready to go to bed: “I think we all ought to get a good night’s sleep.” Amen. And I did, as did just about everyone else. We have fans, and it cools off at night to a sleepingly-comfortable evening.
TO BE CONTINUED
